


The Gambler (When to Fold 'Em)

by TheGreatShiniGami



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compiant--sort of, Extended Play, M/M, The Troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatShiniGami/pseuds/TheGreatShiniGami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Son, I’ve made a life, out of readin’ people’s faces/</i>
  <br/>
  <i>And knowin’ what the cards were, by the way they held their eyes.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>So if you don’t mind my sayin'/</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I can see you’re out of Aces, and for a taste of your whiskey, I’ll give you some advice.”</i>
</p><p>A train ride out of England to France teaches Remus things he’ll need to know for later on. Canon Compliant-ish. Wolfstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gambler (When to Fold 'Em)

_November 1 st, 1981 12:05am_

“All aboard to Paris from Charring Cross! Last call! All aboard!” The conductor called, breaking the moment of rest that Remus had been able to get in; the groggy, swaying feeling of waking up still drunk blurring things in the darkened compartment. The only other occupant simply stared out the window, occasionally looking towards Remus as if he’d recognized him from somewhere distant in memory. It didn’t matter now; nothing did. His entire world had been shattered, the cosmos breaking and falling away in the blinding light of the betrayal he’d suffered. He took another swig from the bottle of scotch he’d sequestered away for their celebration at the end of all this. _Now the end of this simply means drinking himself to death or worse, anywhere but England…_

                They all said it was Sirius, and though he wanted to deny it, Remus could see the lines connecting him to it. Maybe he’d finally cracked, the blood in his veins driving him to the side they’d all taken in the end. Maybe it was jealousy, or just being cooped up as the Secret Keeper. It didn’t matter now. Peter was dead, James and Lily… So many lives torn down to nothing but empty flesh, while Sirius raved behind the unyielding bars of Azkaban.

                And Remus; Remus was alone. There would be no more adventures, no more late, moonlit nights with his motley pack. He was left with his briefcase, the last suit of clothes James had given him, twenty galleons as a gift from Dumbledore and his now nearly-empty bottle of scotch.  The elder wizard had told the werewolf that Harry was safe, and though there had been much loss; Voldemort had been slain in the attack. No one knew how, and Remus could only speculate; but he knew James’ wand-arm, and hoped that somehow in the fray, he’d struck the killing blow in vengeance for his wife.

                “So I guess this is a victory drink, eh?” He muttered to himself after taking another drink. The train shunted forward with the departure, and Remus heard a response to his own question.

                “You don’t look too much like someone who’s won, lad.” The old man across the compartment said, taking out a cigarette from a silver case and lighting it. The aroma of burning tobacco touched on too many memories of life before for Remus’ taste.

                “And I don’t see how you would know that, old man.” Remus said waspishly. Perhaps it was the drink combined with loss, but he’d never have been this way with someone he’d just met. Given that he’d just lost everything important to him notwithstanding.

                “It’s part of my job, or lack of one, mind you.” He said, his Irish accent showing through now. “I’ve been reading faces and cards for a long time now, lad. So, if you don’t mind my asking; was it a woman? Or a brother?” he added, taking another drag off of his cigarette. The _clackity-clackity-clackity_ picked up pace as the train increased speed heading towards the Calais Tunnel.

                “A bit of both, really. Several people; There was a bit of unpleasantness that ended up with my friends dead or in jail.” Remus replied, trying to ease his way around the subject. He didn’t know if this man was a muggle or not, but he carried a certain _off_ smell about him, like the last embers of a charcoal fire.

                “Ahh. I’ve had a similar stretch meself, what with the Troubles and all. Things still haven’t calmed down at all. That’s why I’m headed elsewhere. It might do you some good to get away from the Isles, see a bit more of what’s out there.” The Gambler pointed out. “If ye’d give a bloke a sip of that whiskey there, I might be able to sort you out, at least for a time.” He added, making Remus smirk into a half-smile at the stereotypical reaction. The train turned as it approached the Tunnel, bending both men towards the left of the compartment with the force.

                _So I handed him my bottle, and he drank down my last swallow. Then I bummed a cigarette and asked him for a light. And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression. “If you’re gonna play the game, boy; you better learn to play it right.”_

“You’ve got to know when to hold on to a hand, and when to fold it, you see. Holding on to a bad hand is just asking to get cleaned out. I held on to a good hand for twelve years, and then we started having all that row and she died in the Riots. Twelve years later, I’ve learned what to throw away, what to keep and all that. Every hand can be a winner, and sometimes a winning hand turns into a losing hand. The best ye can really hope for is to pass in your sleep without worry or fear.” He said, Remus nodding as he dragged on the cigarette. He only really craved them when he was drinking, and he’d been drinking for a good bit the past two days.

                _Not that being reminded of Sirius and his habits helped things in that department…_

                “The most important thing is to never count your money until you step away from the table. You’re not going to get anywhere if you’re not focused on the Game, lad. I think you got goodly more years in you yet.” The Gambler went on, coughing roughly near the end of his own smoke. “So, if you think you’re done playing for a time, cash out and run where you can. Who knows where you’ll end up or what else will happen. My daughter—Laura, God bless her soul, she got lucky; went to college in America, so she’s not in any danger of this…pointless killin’.” He finished, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him.

                “That’s really…poignant, sir. Similar to what happened with me, only it’s my friend’s son who managed to make it out of it. He’s with his Aunt and Uncle now, far away from what was troubling us.” Remus replied, crushing out his half-finished smoke as well. It cut away some of the dying ember smell that was coming off of the Gambler.

                “Aye, that’s the ticket, lad. So long as the next generation doesn’t muck it up like we all have, we’ll be right as rain in the end.” The Gambler said, turning back towards the window and reclining a bit to try can get some sleep. The tunnel swooped into view, and the compartment turned to pitch.

                Remus wasn’t sure when he passed, but his last words stuck with him. It was strange, this man he’d only met for the train ride to Paris, but he’d given him something to hold on to. Maybe Harry’s generation could get it right?

                _And somewhere in the darkness, The Gambler he broke even, and in his final words I found and ace that I could keep._


End file.
